


One More Miracle

by Sh3rlockBaggins



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Loss, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Promises, Sad, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 22:50:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sh3rlockBaggins/pseuds/Sh3rlockBaggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has fallen, his life has come to an end. Yet one loyal soldier continues to plead for one more miracle. This miracle, he finds in love. A part of Sherlock Holmes will live on, it's his duty to love and care for this part, to make it the very best it can be. To accept and welcome. To believe in the love of one more mircale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More Miracle

All fell silent. Every seat filled with a breaking heart. It was time for the final procession...

One by one four men stood to carry out their duties as ushers; each taking their place beside the coffin. At the front, John Watson and Mycroft Holmes took a side and waited in a sombre silence while Gregory Lestrade and Mike Stamford took their places at the back. Together, in one steady movement they lifted the mahogany coffin and began the slow procession down the aisle of the small church towards the wooden doors through which they first entered.

Never had such a silence consumed those present, and never had so many tears been shed. With bowed heads, Sherlock’s friends and family sobbed their silent cries for the world’s only consulting detective. In grief, they mentally pleaded with their conscience to give them an answer to the question that plagued the minds of many; _“Why?”_ – There were three people in attendance that knew of the desired answer, though they were not to share. Instead, they kept their silence and gave in to the emotional cycle of grief. The first to break the cascading silence was Molly. Her breathless cries echoed, almost ricocheting against the chords that sounded from the organ. Each agonising note tore through her like a razor sharp blade upon supple flesh, spilling her tears like fresh blood.

This disturbance shocked many, it had been assumed that John and Mycroft would be the first to break, but in true military fashion the soldier paraded on. His head held high as he took his duty in his stride. Yes, he was crying. The clear signs upon his tearstained cheeks built up from nights of endless crying and heartbreak became a foundation to the tears that rolled down his cold, marble like features – _‘A steady expression to contain his agony.’_ \- That’s what he would uphold. As for Mycroft, his heart had sunk, all emotion lost as he stared straight ahead. Keeping a blank expression to reflect his numbed destruction, he joined in John’s facade.

It was a sickening sight; such sadness should not become so many. This nauseous terror was something from a nightmare, their hero had gone. No one could save them now. Their tears were their own but their pain was shared. A frail hand rested upon Molly’s knee as she clutched at her stomach, her pallor losing all colour as started to quiver. A part of her had died that day the great detective fell. She’d lost her spark, her sense of presence and anything that made her real. For once it could be said that Molly Hooper simply existed. Transparent to all who looked on, she was merely there; passing each day like a machine. No longer did she enjoy her work, her days were long, alone and empty. “It’s okay dear, it’s okay.” whispered the whimpering figure beside her, gently patting her knee for comfort as she fumbled with her purse for a tissue. It was a sorrowful sight to see, the broken girl with mousy brown locks curling into her as she leaned against her comforter, Mrs Hudson. Again a feeling of nausea washed over her as the crowd stood to follow the procession outside to where Sherlock would be buried. Softly, Molly whimpered, pushing back her discomfort to take her place beside John and Mrs Hudson as all who attended stood huddled around a 6ft hole in the ground. _“He deserved better than this”_ was the thought that lingered as onlookers watched as Sherlock Holmes took residence 6ft beneath them. His world darkening for the last time as the last of the soil and turf covered the coffin. Like that, the service was over and the beloved genius was left with nothing but a headstone to declare his name for what it was. Sherlock was no fake; his work would still be a marvel. He was Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only Consulting Detective.

Weeks had passed by and life had gone on as ever in the bustling city of London, except the lives of John Watson and Molly Hooper. The loss had him them both exceptionally hard, each in a different manner but none the less, they’d lost an angel. It was on the 18th day since the funeral that alarm bells started to ring to Molly. As always, she’d turned in for her shift at the morgue and just started her day as normal despite the fact that her stomach was as though she was being torn into two. The shaking had returned along with the nausea which seemed to creep like the devil in the night. No day had started positively since the funeral, instead she woke each morning with the need to be sick, her vitals had been fluctuating for some time now, and as much as she wanted to ignore it; Molly Hooper knew exactly what was wrong.

A routine had started to form involving every second Wednesday where John would join Molly in the morgue and aid her in carrying out medical procedure as required in her field of work. Fortunately, today was this day. With his head bowed, John entered the mortuary lab and quickly fitted himself with a suitable lab coat, latex gloves and of course his needed notepad and pen. In silence the pair began to work through the tasks at hand, Molly started with her post mortem examinations, while John ran samples through the lab. He basically stood in for Sherlock, though he doubted his own ability. Very often had he broke down in tears at his lab station as the memories of the great detective came flooding back; the way in which Sherlock would seem ethereal from the minute he walked in, to his vast intelligence that consumed and captivated all who stood near. He wasn’t a detective, nor was he a replacement for Sherlock Holmes. He was simply John Watson, military doctor.

This silence carried on for near on an hour with the pair only exchanging solemn glances, brief nods and heartbroken smiles until John was pulled from the microscope he’d been sat in front of. Molly was on her knees, crying, screaming and clutching at her stomach. She pleaded that she wasn’t in pain, but the washed out pallor of her skin was alarming. Had she seen a ghost? Quickly, John fell to floor beside her and took her shaking hand. The sheer panic that illuminated the whites of his eyes quickly scanned over the crying girl, _“Molly, what happened? Are you okay? Tell me what’s wrong”_ he cried in panic, yet somehow his tone seemed calming to the girl, she sobbed a broken reply of, _“I-I’m fine, I...I, John I need to be sick...”_ – Swiftly, John helped her to her feet and supported her as they walked towards the small toilet where he left her to sort herself out. With his head resting against the wall, John tried to clutch pieces of the mystery and pull them together; he was a doctor after all. _“Are you okay, Molly?”_ he called sympathetically, waiting a few moments in silence for an answer until Molly herself joined him, hunched over in a fragile state. Her eyes were red from crying and her cheeks flushed from what had just happened. A simple shake of her head was all she could give.

_“Here, sit down and...Water? I’ll get you some water-“_ Quickly John set about pulling up a chair and retrieving a chilled bottle of water from his bag. Kneeling on the floor beside her he rested a hand upon her knee and gave a comforting smile. _“-please Molly, I’m a doctor, I can help you. Tell me what’s wrong?”_ It took a few moments for Molly to compose herself before she managed to look the doctor in the eye, her tears still rolled down her burning cheeks as she awkwardly shuffled in her chair. With a shaky sigh she mustered up the courage to speak and moved her hand to cover John’s. _“John I, I’m not quite sure where to begin...you weren’t supposed to find out this way I...he’d go mad if he knew. I-well, I’m going to have to tell you aren’t I?-“_ She brought his hand to rest upon her stomach and sighed, _“-I’m pregnant, John.”_

Silence fell, lasting what felt like an eternity. Nervously Molly uttered, _“Say something John, you’re scaring me...I, I don’t understand why you’re so quiet, you don’t know everything yet...”_ she trailed off and looked to the floor, eyes burning as more tears continued to fall. Both of their hearts raced as the silence consumed them, with skin white as a sheet John looked up to Molly and stammered his reply of, _“I-uh- you, you’re pregnant? Wait, I? What? Why wasn’t I supposed to find out this way? I-Molly, you-you’re confusing me... I don’t understand...how!?”_

_“You’re the doctor John, you tell me!”_ it was a pitiful attempt of making things seem lighter than they were, but the jest alone brought a small smile upon each of their lips. Molly’s hand squeezed John’s gently before she continued to speak; _“Sherlock. He, well before the- before the fall...he and I, look I don’t need to go into detail, you know how this works I just, you need to know why. John, he knew. I’d never seen him that way before; he knew he was going to di- well, anyway, he wanted to make sure a part of him stayed. For you. It wasn’t for me, or for him. Everything was for you.”_ Silently Molly stood and retrieved an envelope from her locker and handed it over to the shaking doctor. _“He asked me to give you this...when you found out. I expect you’ll want to read it alone so I’ll carry on through there but John, don’t think badly...he knew what he was doing.”_ Not another word was spoken. Silence once again fell, consuming the darkest corners of the doctor’s mind as he stared in disbelief at the envelope held in his hands. **_‘John’_** was all that had been scrawled upon its ivory envelope in that sickening, cursive hand that Sherlock so often graphitised any surface eligible to write upon.

No sooner had the envelope been placed in John’s hands was he dashing out of the mortuary. Grasping at his collar as he fought to catch his breath; spluttering a shower of tears as he fell to his knees. He was but a few feet away from the back door, but his legs betrayed him. Left him shaking on the floor as his tears soaked the envelope. With a broken cry he tore at the sealed edge and pulled two folded sheets of paper from the envelope and fumbled to open them both out. The first was a small calling card that simply read; **_‘Time for one final mystery, eh John? Do what I do. SH_** ’ – What!? Letting the card fall to his lap, John stared at the second with wide eyes. A map of London with a few markers drawn onto the streets and named locations; what on Earth was Sherlock playing at? He didn’t have time for- Oh! A pain tore through his heart as he slumped further down, clutching the map to his chest. The pieces fell into place; Sherlock wanted John to follow his wishes in the most gallant of ways. The detective who dreamed of being a pirate had left the doctor with a treasure map. Though John knew it was impossible, he prayed and prayed that the treasure was his best friend. Just one more miracle, as he’d so sorely pleaded.

It wasn’t long before he’d scrambled to his feet and found himself traipsing the cold streets of London, alone in the rain with nothing but a map to guide him. “I’m sorry John” he heard over and over again as a broken echo, ricocheting around him as his tears poured, he was alone yet the sound he’d had nightmares about haunted him. Getting louder and louder in his head as he neared the final marker on his treasure hunt, _“Goodbye John”_ – That was it, he couldn’t contain it any longer. Agonising screams of _“No Sherlock, please no! not know. No, stop this. Stop all of this. I need you. Please come back”_ left the doctors lips as he stumbled on a rock, falling flat on his front. No one came to help him, no this was London. The busy city that never stops; everyone too consumed by their own chaos to notice another man’s downfall. Wait a second, he’d walked this path a thousand times over and there was never a rock like that. He moved to kneel and glanced back at the map, he’d found it. The final marker - the final problem. With a deep breath, John extended two shaking hands and lifted the rock from its foundations, revealing a single sealed canister. This had to be it, what Sherlock had him looking for. Breathing heavily John took the canister and began the silent walk home, he’d find out once and for all what was going on. He had to. Though, as he wandered alone, a sense of relief gnawed at his mind, a sense of completion and achievement at finding a puzzle placed by the world’s greatest detective.

Once home, John wasted no time in breaking into Sherlock’s room, rummaging for anything that would open the darn thing. Finally, his shaking hand set upon a small key that looked as though it would be a perfect fit. It didn’t take long to open the canister after that, and before long John had emptied its contents onto the floor: Another letter, a DVD and a magnifying glass.

**_‘John, I knew you’d find this. You’re reading this because you found out about Molly. I could write you an explanation and you could discard it because it was just words on a page. Empty, meaningless words, this isn’t true John. So, I need you to play the DVD and forgive me, for everything. I didn’t intend for things to happen this way I-...play the DVD. ~Sherlock’_ **

Vague but necessary instructions were left, John had no choice but to comply. Even in death he found himself asking how high whenever Sherlock said jump. With a deep breath, he started to play the DVD immediately regretting doing so when the familiar face of his best friend came up in the first frame. Intently, John settled down silently, tears already streaming as he listened to what was being said.

_“Uh, John! Hi! Well, it’s not really hi is it? You have questions; they can wait because you don’t need to ask them. You need to listen. Okay? Right. Molly is pregnant, with my child...well, the child is yours. I can’t exactly be a father to it can I? So I’m asking you John, as the one who truly matters to me, to take this on. It’s a lot to ask, I know but I need you to do this. I couldn’t leave the world a disgrace, not fully. There was only a few who stuck by, you being one and if you can’t carry on without me, then how am I to remain what I was? There must always be a consulting detective, John. Raise the child. I know you can do it, you were made for it. Your love and compassion warmed even the coldest of hearts and taught it how to love.”_ There was a long pause as tears stained the detective’s cheeks, his sobs silent but noticeable before he inhaled to continue. _“I love you John. I always have, and I always will. I’m giving you the last part of me, look after it for me John. Always. Don’t walk away; don’t lose a hold of who you are. You and me, Holmes and Watson. We are what legends are made of John. Keep that fire burning. I love you.”_ A final smile from Sherlock’s lips and the video ended, leaving John sat in silence, his tears dried as he could cry no more.

Raising a hand to the screen of the laptop, John whispered a soft and gentle trail of, _“I love you!”_ before slumping in a heap. The laptop fell shut and his hands reached out to grab the magnifying glad, clutching it to his heart as he pined like a lone wolf. He felt pain, yes but it wasn’t all that bad. He was trusted with the one thing no one else could care for. It was in this moment John made a vow, he’d do as Sherlock asked and care for both Molly and the child. He’d raise the child in his father’s footsteps, yet care and love the child like his own. He would give every ounce of love to the child. For himself; for Molly and for Sherlock. A dead man’s wish had brought about one final miracle. Sherlock wasn’t dead, not fully. In this child lived a part of him and it was a gift brought only to the two people Sherlock trusted most. Together John and Molly would mould the young Holmes; they’d care and love for them. They would be the one miracle they had both pleaded for in those final moments of Sherlock’s life.

Composing himself, John found his phone and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he smiled a genuine smile as he typed out a text to Molly; _‘I need you. I need you both. –JW’_ then finally, he typed out another, though he knew it would not be received, it would still send. Opening a blank text addressed to Sherlock, he began to type; _‘Thank you, Sherlock. For everything. I owe you so much, you saved me, and now, I will save you. As best I can I will do as you ask. The child shall be mine, they shall be yours. The last part of you I will cherish, so close to my heart you’ll always stay. I love you, Sherlock Holmes. Always.’._ Once both messages had sent, a soft sigh escaped John’s lips. He’d be okay. He had to be.

Wishes do come true, perhaps not as we expect, but somewhere, out there we are loved and protected. There will always be a smile around the corner. Life is a game which we must play to our finest. No matter what, there will always be one more miracle. _A miracle of love._

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm considering adding a second part. What do you guys think? I have it written already I just aren't too sure whether I should post it or not. Let me know! Also...let me know what you think of this...it's my first fic so...(Originally posted on Wattpad) ]


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